Tested
by oneiromancer242
Summary: Erik doesn't think his son is ready for combat. The only way to find out is to try out his moves in the training room himself. Short, not entirely serious Dadneto one-shot for a reader prompt.


**Another request / prompt from a reader who wanted to see a training session at the Xavier Academy. Enjoy!**

Every Friday, when their more serious training was over for the week. Charles would allow his students to play a version of Tag that Kurt had come up with. Down in the Danger Room they would take it in turns week by week to play, the object being to mark their opponents somewhere on their body with a large neon marker – once you had a mark, you were eliminated from the game. The students considered it a great way to wind down and have a little fun after strenuous training all week, and each of them in turn would get the chance to show off their gift to its full extent. Charles considered it excellent ambush training, and would never miss watching those games if he could help it.

This week it had been Peter's turn to evade his classmates – though it was a game, nobody ever went easy on him, knowing that his speed gave him an advantage only Kurt's teleportation could match, and even Kurt could only _bamf!_ his way out of trouble twice a second – Peter could have caught him in a quarter of that time. Though every time his turn came round his classmates would try to out-flank and distract him into slipping up, that was getting harder all the time the longer he spent training at the Academy, Xavier spending time with him alone to work on calming the mental turmoil that could sometimes lead to him miscalculating and making mistakes. Here in the Danger Room that wasn't too bad a thing, but Charles knew that once he was back out in combat, a distracted mistake would one day cost him his life. At first Peter had hated those sessions, been unable to stop squirming around in his seat, mind wandering constantly, getting impatient and irritated with Charles dragging him back to focus on some small thing – a candle flame, a single leaf, the column of smoke from a burning stick of incense – to the exclusion of all else. He'd improved radically since then though, and watching him tonight taking delight in easily evading everything the others threw at him was a magnificent demonstration of how far he had come. Charles smiled, said quietly to the man beside him

"He's quite something to watch, isn't he?"

Erik gave him a thin smile in return, nodded silently. He wasn't just something – he was astonishing. He could hardly believe that the flighty little creature Charles had given a place at his Academy had developed into this magnificent man in a year and a half. It was sheer poetry, watching him somersault effortlessly over Kurt's head to land solidly on his feet and take to his heels again an instant later. He wasn't even up to his top pace, almost leisurely as he danced around one of Scott's optic blasts and marked a large neon cross on his chest. Though Erik could see that he was nowhere near the messy boy who had rashly charged in to try to tackle Apocalypse, there was still nagging doubt in his mind. Could he really bear to send his son out into battle? True that he could outrun the wind, that hard training had strengthened muscles already as strong as steel and sharpened reflexes faster than any striking snake, but was he strong enough to face combat again? Erik watched him accelerate into a loop across the ceiling, Ororo trying her hardest to catch at his heels with forked lightning, appearing behind her in a fraction of an instant to mark her and send her out of the game too.

"I'm still dubious, Charles" he replied grimly, "He's too impulsive, too delicate"

There seemed nothing delicate about him as he had lowered his head and charged Hank with such force that the furry blue Mutant was sent crashing into a wall, marked a moment later and out of the game – though with his slim build and hollow bones, Peter barely topped 110lbs, he was capable of harnessing the momentum of his own fast movements to exert far more force than would seem possible for someone so light. Charles thought that with just a little more training, he would probably be able to run straight through walls with enough acceleration behind him. In barely another moment, Jean and Jubilation had been marked with large neon crosses, and Peter was once again triumphant over them all, coming to a halt and sauntering nonchalantly over to the group.

"Next time, Maximoff" Scott warned good naturedly, "You can't outrun tactics, next time you're mine"

"Yeah yeah, whatever" Peter grinned, pushing his goggles onto the top of his head and unzipping his training suit a little. "You keep dreaming Summers"

"Here –" Hank handed him a tall glass containing an unpleasant looking brown liquid, "I managed to make a chocolate flavour, should taste better this time"

"I doubt it man" he took a sip, grimaced, but drank the rest anyway, "You okay by the way? I took you down pretty hard"

"A shrimp like you? It barely tickled" Hank grunted, though the way he winced a little as he moved to hand Jean her post-training shake said otherwise.

"Well done again, Peter" Charles congratulated him, wheeling over to them, "And to the rest of you on such a valiant effort as usual. When you've had a moment to catch your breath, Erik would like you to go back to the training floor"

"All of us?" Jubilation looked terrified

"Just Peter" Charles smiled, reaching out to pat the girl soothingly on the arm, "A little extra training"

The speedster grinned, set down his glass and popped the collar of his suit, lowering his goggles back down over his eyes

"Father-Son bonding time" he smirked, "Sounds great"

Erik was standing alone in the centre of the room as his son walked back over, doing his utmost to keep a casual pace. Gave his father a huge grin as he stopped, folded his arms over his chest, struck a pose that was calculated to appear ready for anything. Erik looked him up and down appraisingly. That silver-accented black leather training suit looked good on him, clinging around the rock-hard musculature of his calves and thighs and accentuating every line of his body. Erik couldn't help but notice that since he'd been training with Charles he'd put on a little muscle, shoulders broader than they had been, forearms corded with powerful flesh, no longer the fragile-looking thing he'd met in Cairo. Still so whipcord-thin despite that though, still looking as if Erik could snap him in two, still in his eyes so very vulnerable and young.

"You wanna play Tag, Dadneto?" he asked, "Hope you're feeling fast"

"No Peter. I want to test you." he gave the boy a stern look, "Combat isn't a game. The dangers are very real"

He lifted a hand and a multitude of sharp, glittering metal shards lifted from the floor, dancing in the light as he spread them into a deadly cloud. Peter looked deeply unimpressed.

"Whatcha want me to do?"

Erik smiled at him, flexed his fingers in readiness

"Dodge"

One piece of shrapnel whizzing past his shoulder close enough for him to feel it scrape the fabric of his suit was enough to assure Peter that his father was in no way intending to miss. Damn, the man was fast – anticipating every dodge, seeming to almost preternaturally know how he was going to move to avoid getting metal embedded in his skin. It took all the concentration he could muster to outthink Erik, trick him with a feint before whizzing off in the other direction, bending and leaping to avoid the metal shards. Finally, it seemed the assault was over, and he paused at the opposite wall, caught his breath. Erik had worked him so close to his limit that he was actually a little winded, an almost unheard of occurrence. Wary to approach Erik in case that was not the last of his tricks, proven correct in his caution and moving just the tiniest bit too slowly as one last shard drew a bright line of pain across one cheek.

"Not bad" Erik was saying, striding over to pull Peter's hand away from his cheek, swiping away a trickle of blood so dark it was almost black, "Not bad at all"

Clenching his hands into fists to hide the shake, Peter glanced up and met his father's eyes, surprised to see something there which he had not expected. Not concern for the inconsequential wound on his face, not worry or fear for his son, but admiration. He grinned up at Erik, shrugged in what he hoped look like the most unconcerned manner possible. Erik returned his smile, patted him gently on the shoulder. Though he had seen his son evade some tough threats in training, now that he had proven his ability against Erik himself he felt somewhat comforted to know that all his apparent strength and cunning was not just bravado. Perhaps he was more ready for action than Erik had thought. He held his son's gaze for a long moment, before he nodded in a satisfied manner and turned to sweep out of the room. Immediately, Hank had rushed over to make sure that the cut on Peter's cheek was as superficial as it looked, not noticing the boy staring past him at his father's retreating shape with what looked like the proudest smile he'd ever worn.

It would not be until he undressed for bed that night that Erik would lay his shirt aside, and realise that it had 'Kick Me' scrawled in neon marker across the back. He tutted, but smiled to himself all the same.

The boy really was fast. And daring.


End file.
